


Something Quiet

by sageclover61



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, Stubborn Sam Winchester, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 12:37:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20426111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sageclover61/pseuds/sageclover61
Summary: Some hunts just go badly, and this one leaves Sam numb and feeling as though he's in pieces. Fortunately, he has his own archangel happy to look after him.





	Something Quiet

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Resting Place](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20368369) by [Hyrulehearts1123](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyrulehearts1123/pseuds/Hyrulehearts1123). 

> I was finally inspired to write some more SaRaph, and I think I can safely say its Hyrule's fault for writing me such an excellent piece while I was on a plane.

Sam couldn't help but flinch when his mate tried to embrace him only a moment after he'd slipped into the hotel room after a bad hunt. His nerves were frayed, his right shoulder ached, and he just wanted to fall asleep snuggled in his mate's soft wings.

"Sam, are you okay?" Raphael asked. He kept his voice quiet having noticed the flinch before Sam had even committed to the motion.

"Bad hunt," Sam mumbled. " M tired." And injured. But even though it would only take the healer a moment to fix it, he didn't want it. He didn't deserve it.

There was an armchair against the wall facing towards the bed, so he crossed the room and plopped into it. There was also a sofa near it, with a small end table between them.

Raphael followed him, but Sam had selected the chair over the sofa specifically because it wasn't large enough to allow for his mate to sit next to him. He didn't deserve that either.

Raphael stood in front of the chair for a moment, and then fetched an item from the bed. Sam was unable to see what it was until his mate was gently placing their softest blanket over him. It was exactly his favorite temperature and it took everything he had not to reach out to Raphael.

He wanted to be hugged, but his shoulder ached from the bullet wound. Dean had dressed it and he'd put on a clean shirt so Raphael wouldn't find out. He wasn't ready for reprieve from the pain. He still held too much guilt.

"I'm going to make tea," Raphael said. Sam didn't answer beyond nodding that he'd heard. He was too numb to speak yet. Too tired. And there was little he appreciated more than how patient the Healer was being.

The archangel made the tea in the mortal way, the same way Sam had taught him. He rarely mojo'd their tea lately, and he was glad the task was a slow one now. Stirring the water while it boiled and then the steeping tea gave him something to occupy his hands.

He did not think Sam was in shock, but he was concerned because the hunters were always downplaying the severity of their adventures. If Sam was willing to admit the hunt had gone badly, how bad was bad?

Raphael put a little bit of sugar in his own tea while leaving Sam’s without. Raphael honestly didn’t care one way or another about how much sugar was in his tea, as long as it wasn’t something the extraordinary sweet tooth of his little brother would prefer. But he and Sam, they had what had almost become a tea ritual. Sam would  _ always  _ ask for his tea without sugar, though he actually did prefer just a little bit of sugar in it, which was why Raphael prepared his that way. And then, after Sam would sip his and decide it was too bitter, he would ask to sip Raph’s, and in the end they would trade.

It might have seemed silly to outsiders, but it was  _ their  _ thing. And Raphael thought that Sam’s expression upon finding his own tea too bitter was  _ adorable _ . Usually. 

As he walked across the room to deliver the tea, he used a touch of grace to make sure that neither cup would burn his mate.

“Tea, Sam?” he asked as he sat down at the end of the sofa closest to the armchair. He was in reach of Sam, but not  _ too close _ . He set his own on the end table and then reached across to hand Sam the unsweetened cup of tea.

“No sugar, right?” When Raphael nodded, Sam reached for and took the cup of tea with his left hand.

Raphael sipped from his own cup, watching Sam as unobtrusively as possible. Sam  _ never  _ diverged from the tea ritual. It was shortened, sometimes, when he was feeling unwell, but never shifted entirely away from it. Not like this.

Sam bit his lip, but didn’t say anything as he sipped his tea. He tried to keep his face as neutral as possible as the  _ ever  _ bitter liquid crossed his tongue, but said nothing.

The archangel was worried, and if hadn’t been for the fact that he could see on Sam’s face that he found the tea bitter, he almost would have been worried about this not being Sam. But he was an archangel, and he would have known if this wasn’t Sam before he ever walked in, so of course it wasn’t that. That did not mean that it had not been obvious since Sam had walked through the door that something hadn’t been right.

And yet, it was also clear that Sam’s defenses were still too high from whatever had caused the hunt to be a bad one for him to get a straight answer yet. “Do you want to watch a movie?” he asked. He wasn’t very enthralled by human entertainment, although he and Sam had enjoyed poking holes in some nature documentaries. But he was hoping that Sam might take some enjoyment from familiar background noise if they were going to sit in silence.

Sam shook his head and sipped quietly at his tea as an excuse to not speak. It was bitter, but he refused to give in and ask for Raphael’s. It may have been a tradition they’d started early in their dating, but not today. The bitterness was aptly fitting for the numbing guilt gnawing at his stomach.

Raphael wasn’t surprised, so when Sam lowered the cup again he said, “Do you think you’re about ready to go to bed?”

Sam shrugged, careful not to jar his injured shoulder. Usually, he’d want to take a shower after a hunt, but he’d cleaned up before returning to their motel, and it wasn’t too early to think about bed. (It was never to early to think about bed after a long hunt.) He put the empty cup on the end table, noticing that Raphael had put his down as well and that the other was far from empty.  _ But he didn’t want to want it. Wasn’t going to take it. _

Maybe he could just sleep in the chair. That would be acceptable.

Except it wasn’t. His shoulder ached terribly and what he really wanted was to just curl up in his mate’s arms. Sleep would come eventually, but he just wanted to be held.

He wasn’t ready to give in. Raphael had always been  _ more  _ than happy to give and give, but he wasn’t ready for that right now. “I love you,” he mumbled, selfishly, instead of all the things he wanted,  _ needed,  _ to say. There was someone who would never go home and say it again. He wasn’t usually one for declarations of affection, but he couldn’t deny himself this as much as he could everything else.

"I love you more," Raphael answered. It was another ritual, but one they'd repeated far less often than the tea ritual. Sam hadn't grown up talking about his feelings, though he was usually more likely to do so more than his brother. But sometimes there were things he could and wanted to say, and that was one of them.

Sam blinked. Despite Raphael repeating the response every time, it never failed to remind him that there was so much love between them. It was enough to bring tears to his face.

He shifted, not sure if he was leaning away from Raphael or reaching for him, and his injured shoulder banged into the armchair he was sitting in.

Sam howled, and the pain was enough of a shock that he couldn't hold back his tears any more.

"It's okay," Raphael whispered. He hadn't been sure what to expect, but this didn't surprise him. He used Sam's good arm to pull him up and then guided him onto the bed, cradled safely in his arms where the outside world couldn't touch him.

"I love you," Raphael whispered, both in English and Enochian as he brushed a finger along the lower part of Sam's right arm to soothe the edge of the shoulder pain. Sam wasn't in a state of mind to consent to healing, and Raphael had long ago sworn not to do that.

Raphael would ask, Sam would say no, they would discuss it civilly, and eventually Sam would allow it.

His human was nothing if not stubborn, but there was so much love and trust between them and it worked. He just wished his Sam could see his own worth.

Sam continued sobbing in his arms and Raphael was content to hold him. He offered small words of comfort, but knew that Sam would more likely than not fall asleep first and that was okay. There would be more than enough time for words later.

"I love you," he whispered one last in Sam's ear right before the human started snoring.

Sam sniffled, and inhaled the scent that was all Raphael. He was warm and loved. The shadow of grief that always followed a hunt gone bad had yet to fade, but the soft presence of his partner and the beckoning of sleep was stronger.

He was loved. He was supported. And someday, the horrors of hunts gone wrong would fade.

  
  
  
  



End file.
